Flurry
by fantasyfreak133
Summary: It was a high, breezy laughter. It could belong to a man or a boy. But the wind snatched it away before it reached its peak and was lost to her ears. Like a spirit or faery laugh.


**This is a one shot based off an idea for a fan fiction full-length story for ROTG. I don't know when I'll get time to write the full-length story but I wanted to share this bit with you guys. I guess you can think of it as a prologue or something. It won't be in the actual story but it does explain a few things. I hope you enjoy!**

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**~FLURRY~**

The little girl was lying on her bed, head propped up by an assemblage of pillows while her white arms were carefully laid over the blue quilt. Her blue eyes were open, staring vaguely up at the ceiling. Her dark hair was splayed across the pillows and an un-opened book lay by her still hand.

The voices of her father and the nurse drifted up to her.

"How bad is she?" The voice of her father echoed up through the floorboards from the kitchen down below.

"It's hard to tell at this stage. We only just realized she had the disease a few days ago. This is the first bout so it seems bad. But she will get stronger, learn to live with it. She might even be able to go back to school next week."

"And her sports?"

Silence.

"Oh, for god sakes, she's only nine-years-old!"

"I'm so sorry, sir."

Lung disease.

Anya, the little girl in the bed had lung disease. The same thing that had killed her mother when she was five.

Tears trembled on her thick eyelashes, they were a stark contrast to her pale skin. No dance, no soccer, no swimming. Never again. The droplets on her lashes quivered, but they still didn't fall.

The door downstairs shut and then footsteps sounded coming up the staircase. Her father appeared in the doorway, his face looked haggard and pale. He walked over to her bed and sat down, the mattress dipped beneath his weight. He sighed and remained silent for a moment, then: "Are you enjoying your book?"

Anya looked over at the worn-out copy of her father's old book _The Hobbit_. It lay by her hand, still untouched.

"Yes, Papa."

He took her small hand in his large one, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wanted to say something, she could see it in his eyes. A muscle feathered his strong jaw. He always did that when he was stressed. She wanted to reach out and touch it, wish it away.

"Are you okay, Papa?"

He turned and smiled at her, but his eyes were moist. "Yes, darling." He leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Love you, Angel."

Angel. He had called her that for as long as she could remember. He had said it was because she was so pale and features so delicate.

She smiled. "Love you too."

He stood up. "Do you want some hot chocolate?" He walked out her door without waiting for an answer. Muttering under his breath, "Hot chocolate. Yes, some nice cocoa sounds good..." His voice faded.

Anya turned her face away from the door. Outside, snow had started falling. Her lips trembled, but she wouldn't cry. She didn't know why she wouldn't cry. She just didn't, the tear drops stayed frozen on her thick lashes. She missed school, her friends, running in the sunshine. It was only her second day in the bed but it felt like an eternity. She bit her lip hard enough to make her forget about her disease for a moment. She looked out the window, her lips trembling.

It was getting darker outside, the swirling snow like a flurry of magic sparkles. She loved the snow. Why couldn't she be healthy and run around and play. Not able to take it anymore, she started to turn her head away from the scene, but then, she thought she heard laughter. It was a high, breezy laughter. It could belong to a man or a boy. But the wind snatched it away before it reached its peak and was lost to her ears. Like a spirit or faery laugh.

She turned back to the window.

It was late out. What mother would let her children play out in the snow at this hour?

Intrigued, little Anya slowly moved the covers aside and swung her legs out. She stood up. Her breath rattled in her chest but, after a moment, she breathed freely. It was cold so she grabbed the wool robe off her bedpost and then padded silently up to the window. Her feet felt good sinking into the thick carpet.

She made it to the window, crawled up onto her windowsill, peeked out, and gasped in delight. Yesterday there had been no snow. It had only started falling a short while ago and already the ground was covered! It looked magical, all pure white and frosty cold.

She was reminded of snow days with her father, snow angels, forts, snow fights, hot chocolate, sledding. Oh, how she missed it! Perhaps, when she was better, they could do it again. She loved the snow.

But where was the boy with the spirit laugh?

She put her small hand on the cold glass and pressed her nose against it. She looked at the winter wonderland, searching. Something flashed by. She jerked away, startled. But then looked again. A breath of wonder escaped her lips.

Anya loved fairytales and legends, during the winter she spent hours reading and looking at the whimsical illustrations. The stories empowered her, gave her something to believe in. She loved them with all her heart - Peter Pan, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty... she had read them all. The words echoed deep in her heart, making her wish she was in the stories as well. With the princess', knights in shinning army and faeries.

He looked like a faery. The boy outside the window. He was down in the snow, laughing and frolicking about. He was older than her, maybe seventeen. His hair was white and his skin... as pale as he own. Maybe even paler. He was tall and lanky, dressed in nothing but brown trousers and a blue sweatshirt. His feet were bare. Wasn't he cold?

Her breath grew rapid in excitement. He could fly! Was he a faery? Maybe a winter sprite? It seemed like he was the one creating the snow. The flurry was because of him!

She laughed in delight as he danced upon the telephone wires, leaving a trail of ice in his wake.

He was so close, playing right down in her yards. Once she was even able to determine his eye color... blue. So blue it made her heart hurt. But he didn't seem to see her watching him through the window. He remained happily oblivious, creating flurry after white flurry of snow.

She didn't mind. She just watched in wonder as he performed his magic. The staff in his hand would sparkle and then suddenly more snow would appear. She laughed, her illness forgotten for a moment.

Suddenly, he flew off, leaving his enchanting wonderland and the sick little girl behind.

Anya hadn't wanted his to leave. Why did he leave? Then she turned as if called by name, her eyes landed on her desk and the stationary there. She rushed over and sat down. Uncapping a pen she began to write about what she had just seen.

She had always liked to write, but had never really had any time with all her activities from before. Well, it seemed like she would have a lot of time now, those activities were over.

Ink spilled from her pen, weaving words onto, what she realized, was a poem. A poem about a white haired boy with a spirit laugh.

It was filled with all the spelling mistakes and grammar errors of a fourth grader. She knew it, but kept on. Her pen scratched at an almost feverish rate.

She was almost done when she began to wonder what to call the poem. Who was that boy? The faery boy?

"You're out of bed?"

Startled, Anya turned to see her father silhouetted against the doorway, a steaming mug in his hands.

"Yes. I couldn't read or sleep so I decided to try and write instead."

Her father looked so happy and yet so sad all at the same time she felt tears prickle at her eyes.

"Your mother used to write."

She turned back to her stationary. "I know."

He walked over and set the mug down on the desk beside her. "Here, something to keep you warm. We don't want Jack Frost nipping at your nose!"

Anya's brow crinkled. "Jack Frost?"

"It's just an expression honey."

She turned back to the window and the white flurry outside.

Then, with a boyish laugh echoing in her ears, she wrote at the top of the page:

_Jack Frost_.

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**I hope you enjoyed it! **

**And if you did feel free to check out my other stories for Star Wars, Hunger Games, etc. I have a few ;-P**


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